


Family Don't End With Blood

by nightfuryy



Series: Nonbinary!Jaskier [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Child Abuse, Childhood Trauma, Dysphoria, Gen, Genderfluid Jaskier, Jaskier has good sisters, Jaskier | Dandelion Has PTSD, Nonbinary Jaskier, Platonic Relationships, Self-Harm, Transphobia, but also some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:13:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfuryy/pseuds/nightfuryy
Summary: prequel to You're not Brokenthis is Jaskier's experience with discovering his identity through his teenage years"Jaskier wasn’t quite sure when he realized he wasn’t the same as other boys. He knew it was somewhere in his teens when the revelation came about, but the details were fuzzy. One moment, Jaskier thought he was a totally normal kid, the next, he had a huge ass secret he had to keep from his family."(the title was definitely stolen from Supernatural, but I think it works pretty well)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Nonbinary!Jaskier [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642096
Comments: 2
Kudos: 73





	Family Don't End With Blood

**Author's Note:**

> whoops I projected my dysphoria onto Jaskier again

Jaskier wasn’t quite sure when he realized he wasn’t the same as other boys. He knew it was somewhere in his teens when the revelation came about, but the details were fuzzy. One moment, Jaskier thought he was a totally normal kid, the next, he had a huge ass secret he had to keep from his family. Regular boys didn’t like to put makeup on sometimes or put a dress on. They didn’t get a feeling Jaskier could only describe as a sticky coating on the inside of his frame that was only alleviated by completing such actions. His family was nobility, too. While lower ranking families who had less of an appearance to hold up in town might love their son just the same, Jaskier’s family had to keep their appearances up. And a son who liked femanine things from time to time certainly wouldn’t do that.

Through Jaskier’s earlier teenage years, he had learned a few things about himself. Most of the time, Jaskier was just fine in his own body. He was thankful he didn’t have to suffer every day. Then there were the days where he felt like some combination of male and female. Sometimes equal, sometimes tipping the scale in either direction. Those were the easiest days to handle out of his… off days. Jaskier could simply hide in his room and get away with applying some makeup he stole from one of his sisters. The relief Jaskier felt was like soaring through the clouds. It caused pieces of warmth to sprout in his chest and melt the sticky feeling. It was liberating. But the harder days were when Jaskier felt like absolutely nothing. There was nothing he could do to help himself other than putting on the most androgynous clothing he owned and simply suffer through the day with the wretched sticky feeling smothering his insides. On days like those, Jaskier still tried to hide in his room, but not to avoid people seeing him. He didn’t have the willpower to do anything when everything was just wrong.

However, the worst days were very few and far between, which Jaskier was eternally grateful for. They were the days he felt almost completely like a woman and the sticky crap built itself up so thick inside Jaskier it was almost impossible to melt. The feeling was the worst thing Jaskier could possibly describe. It made him want to pull his skin off more than any other day he was feeling off. And when he happened to catch himself in the mirror on days like this, it was almost enough to make Jaskier break down and cry. A few times he actually did just that. When he woke up on those days, Jaskier knew the day was going to be hellacious. It was on one of those days that Jaskier picked up a habit that would stick with him for years.

> When Jaskier woke up, he didn’t feel it immediately. It wasn’t until he was standing up, staring at his bright and superfluous collection of clothes that everything spiraled downward. He stared at his clothes, his boys’ clothes, and could practically feel the sadness creep into his eyes and drag his expression down. The sticky wrongness piled on so thick it felt like he was drowning in it.
> 
> After staring helplessly at his clothing options, he stepped backward, still in his night clothes, to sit on the foot of his bed and curl his knees up to his chest, his heels just barely resting on the edge of the mattress. Jaskier brought his arms up to curl around his shins and his chin rested on his knees. Blue eyes stared into nothing as he fought back tears. Nothing was right.
> 
> But his empty gaze turned bitter. Jaskier’s brow furrowed as he caught sight of himself in a mirror just off to the side. His shoulders were too wide. That was the first thing he noticed. Jaskier could feel an odd combination of anger and frustration build up, something he’d never felt before when he was feeling off. He wanted to squeeze his own shoulders until they cracked and compressed down to the more dainty shoulders of a woman. And he wanted it to hurt.
> 
> That thought caught Jaskier off guard, his furrowed brow relaxing purely from surprise; the frustration was still there. He wasn’t sure exactly what went through his mind at that moment, but the next thing he realized was that his eyes were settling on a stone carved figure of a dragon sitting in his windowsill. The tip of its tail laid lazily out to the side as the dragon slept.
> 
> Jaskier stared at the dragon for a moment before slowly getting up from his bed and walking over to the stone reptile. He gingerly grabbed the figure, twisting his wrist around to look at it, then rolled up his sleeve with his other hand. His eyes lingered on the dragon for a moment longer, but he eventually turned the trinket over to his other hand and dragged the sharp tail down his forearm. The tail wasn’t quite so sharp to break skin, though, so it left a raised red line in its wake.
> 
> The pain gave Jaskier something else to focus on. One pain distracting from another. It calmed him in a way, but it also bubbled something in his chest. Jaskier was inclined to call the feeling anger, although he was unsure that was the right feeling. A frown fell on his features again and he raked the tail across his arm for the second time, this time harder. And Jaskier kept doing it and doing it until his entire arm was red. Jaskier let out a sigh that was almost content. Almost. He examined his work for a moment, then slowly set the dragon down back in its spot.
> 
> The rest of his day was spent miserably in his room.

Despite not being able to show his full true self to anyone except himself, Jaskier was able to do a few things outside of the confines of his bedroom that made living just one step easier for him. The first and most important of those things was changing his name. Julian was an ugly name in the first place in Jaskier’s biased opinion. Being called Julian was an insult to his ears, but once Jaskier found his real name, being called Julian was like driving a huge icicle through his chest. The icicle turned the sticky feeling to ice, making it feel harder, colder, and even more incapacitating. While his sisters sometimes called him Jaskier, which he was grateful for, his parents never did and it almost seemed like his father made an extra effort to rub his birth name in. Still, Jaskier always introduced himself to new people as Jaskier.

> Jaskier had spent months trying to find the right name. He took his time and really tested out each name he thought might be the one, saying it out loud to himself and writing it down. He really wished someone else could say it out loud to him, but Jaskier knew there was no such option. Not without the risk of someone growing suspicious of him.
> 
> But when Jaskier finally found Jaskier, he knew that was his name. The name felt right. That was the only way to describe it. On that day, Jaskier couldn’t help the grin that settled on his lips and in his eyes. He wasn’t even having an off day, but finding his name still spread the same warmth across his chest when he put makeup on or wore a few extra rings.
> 
> They were all sitting at the dinner table when Jaskier decided to break the news to his family that he was no longer Julian. After a few weeks of being with his name, Jaskier decided that was okay to tell his family. He figured it was safe enough since it wasn’t unheard of for people to change their names and Jaskier wasn’t overly femanine. It wouldn’t raise any suspicions in his direction.
> 
> “Can you guys call me Jaskier?” he asked when everyone had fallen into a comfortable silence eating. Realistically, Jaskier knew the silence wouldn’t remain comfortable, but he could only hope. He glanced around at his family, shielding the nervousness from his expression.
> 
> His father looked up with narrowed eyes. “What’s wrong with the fine name your mother and I gave you?” Jaskier couldn’t read him. There was ice in his words, definitely, but he couldn’t tell if there was something else lurking there as well. For all Jaskier knew, his father could brush the situation off. Or he could pile it on top of the ever growing tower of things he had against his son. Ever since Jaskier started playing the lute and told his parents he wanted to study music at Oxenfurt, his father hadn’t carried the same love for him as he used to and started to compile things against him.
> 
> Jaskier didn’t reply immediately. He shifted his gaze over to his sisters who didn’t seem to have any problem with the simple request and could feel himself relax, even if it was just by a hair. His mom looked somewhere in between his two sisters and his father. She didn’t look nearly as bothered by it, but clearly wasn’t as accepting of it either.
> 
> “I just like the name Jaskier better,” he shrugged probably only seconds later, but those seconds were still enough to gauge everyone’s reactions and leave his father waiting just long enough. “I think it suits me better.”
> 
> “Julian, just because you don’t like your name doesn’t mean you get to pick a different one,” his father said coldly and Jaskier almost couldn’t hide the hurt that washed over him. It settled deep in his chest and he could feel the ice taking over.
> 
> Jaskier settled his eyes back on his food as his family continued to eat. He no longer had an appetite, though, and the silence now weighed on Jaskier’s shoulders.

Some of the other things Jaskier did to ease the sticky feeling on his off days were to wear a few extra rings or random pieces of jewelry he had or braid his younger sisters’ hair. Jaskier enjoyed being included in that girly aspect of life. And sometimes he’d get his own turn and his sisters would do his own hair. It wasn’t long enough to braid in any way, but they could decorate it with flowers and style it how they wanted. Doing hair always got Jaskier cold looks from his father, but his mother wrote it off as an older brother spending time with his younger sisters and gave them a small smile if she happened to see. The jewelry didn’t seem to be too much of an issue, though, and Jaskier assumed his father didn’t have a problem with him showing off their wealth.

> Jaskier sat in the middle of his youngest sister’s bed finishing up the last part of a simple set of blonde braids, one on each side of her head above her ears and both pulled back behind her head to meet in one braid. The rest of her long wavy hair remaid down, flowing over her back and shoulders. It was just after breakfast and she had asked Jaskier to help her get her hair done for the day.
> 
> Out of the corner of his eye, Jaskier could see his other sister getting up from the makeup vanity that sat on the other side of the room. She walked over, fully dressed for the day, simple makeup applied, and had her light brown hair braided in one long plait and hanging over her shoulder with several pieces of jewelry decorating the neatly done braid. He finished up his youngest sister’s hair and turned to look at his middle sister. Jaskier couldn’t help but notice the slight unevenness in eyeliner between her right and left eyes as he turned to actually look at her, but it was hardly noticeable. Jaskier had a few years of experience up his sleeve now that he was sixteen, even if it was in the privacy of his own room. His sisters were two and three years younger than him, so they had far less experience with makeup.
> 
> “Jaskier, can I do your hair?” his youngest sister asked.
> 
> The question caught Jaskier off guard. His sisters had never asked if they could do his hair before. He was almost glad it did, though, since the surprise masked the excitement that sparked inside his chest and melted the thin layer of wrong that coated his insides. Today wasn’t bad at all, Jaskier almost didn’t notice it, but he couldn’t refuse the offer.
> 
> When the initial shock wore off, he had to feign suspicion to hide any of his inner feelings. Jaskier made a show of thinking about the answer to the question and asked, “What would you even do with my hair? It’s not very long.” It was a real question, but something Jaskier wouldn’t have bothered to ask if an immediate, excited response would have been alright.
> 
> “I have ideas,” she replied with a mischievous glint to her eye. “It will look great with your eyes. I promise.” The corner of her mouth quirked up as she tried to hide a grin.
> 
> But Jaskier eventually agreed to let his little sister do his hair while his middle sister watched quietly, even if his mind had been made up as soon as the question had been asked. This resulted in Jaskier being told to, “Wait right here,” and the blonde running downstairs and outside, to Jaskier’s utter confusion. He glanced out the window, trying to catch sight of her, but a quick evaluation led him to the conclusion that she was on the other side of their home. Doing what, Jaskier had no clue. A questioning glance thrown at his sister revealed she knew no more than he did when she responded with a shrug of her shoulders.
> 
> Minutes later, she returned with a handful of blood red wildflowers and started to loop the stems around each other, attaching them in a chain. Jaskier wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing at first, but soon realized she was making a crown of flowers and watched carefully, storing the information away for later. He did his best to mask his focus with more suspicion, though.
> 
> When she was done, Jaskier’s sister placed the red crown down on his head like a halo with a satisfied, “There.”
> 
> Jaskier felt like his heart was floating and gave his sister an appreciative but goofy smile. And Jaskier was extra thankful that his father didn’t walk in while they were doing their hair that time.

And over the years from the unclear beginning to where Jaskier was now, depression evolved alongside the strange anomaly of his gender. Jaskier wasn’t sure if the depression started first or if it started after, but more often than not, it was lurking around the corners when Jaskier was feeling dysphoric. It didn’t accompany dysphoria all the time, though, and being depressed often came by itself. That made both of the distressing feelings easier to manage. Depression ranged just like his gender did, too. It could hollow Jaskier and weigh him down so bad it felt like he was barely living or it could be the same sort of feeling, but barely noticeable and in the back of his mind. Jaskier did have some truly happy days, but sometimes they were hard to find.

At the moment, Jaskier was having one of his really bad off days again. This one hit Jaskier particularly hard and he had noticed it almost as soon as he woke up. He had his blankets completely untucked from the sides of his bed and was currently wrapped as tight as he could possibly be in the light blue and gray fabric. The blankets were tucked up to his chin and around his head so only his face was exposed. Jaskier stared blankly ahead since he wasn’t actually tired, but also had no energy or will to move even an inch. The thick sticky layer that coated his insides was so heavy it felt like he couldn’t move. At the same time, Jaskier wished he could move so he could curl in on himself so tight that he would cease to exist to escape the terrible feeling he didn’t know how to shake. But Jaskier managed a frown as he remembered something. Last time he had experienced a particularly bad day, he had gone into his mother’s room, dug up one of her old dresses Jaskier knew she wouldn’t miss, and snuck it back into his own room.

Forcing his own limbs to move, Jaskier sluggishly escaped his wad of blankets and made himself stand up. Invisible weights pulled on his wrists and ankles as he stood there. These weights and the sticky shit made it almost impossible to walk just around to the end of his bed where a heavy trunk sat. Jaskier pushed up the top of the dark wooden trunk to reveal mostly folded and stacked blankets. He stuck his hands down in the middle of the trunk between the soft fabrics and pulled out a royal purple dress. His gaze lingered on the expensive piece of clothing for a few seconds before walking back to the side of his bed to lay the dress down so he could undress.

Jaskier stripped fast and had the dress on in a matter of seconds, but most of everything that happened between Jaskier laying the dress down and Jaskier standing in front of the mirror with the incredibly soft dress on was a blur. In front of the mirror, Jaskier was lost for words. The only thing he could do was admire himself. Despite the deep v-neck exposing his dark chest hair, the neckline seemed to help narrow his shoulders. The sleeves were tight down to his elbow, then flared out down to his wrists and ended in a long point that reached almost down to his knees. The skirt of the dress was floor length. There were a few layers, but not too many, of fabric under it that widened Jaskier’s hips and gave the illusion of a narrower waist. Jaskier let out a jagged breath he didn’t realize he was holding. Tears of complete happiness started to well in his eyes. He leaned forward with his face resting in his hands and his elbows rested on his knees. Jaskier kept his fingers spread, so he could keep his eyes on himself. He let the tears continue to fall silently.

The happiness was short lived, though.

“Jaskier?” There was a knock on his door.

Panic shot through every inch of his body and exploded in his stomach. Jaskier straightened his stance and tried to say he needed a minute. Before he could get the words out, though, Jaskier saw his father at his open door through the mirror. Jaskier’s blue eyes glazed over in fear as they met his father’s hard, angry eyes.

What happened next was in slow motion for Jaskier. In a matter of seconds, although those seconds felt like minutes, Jaskier’s father crossed the room in a storm. His arm darted out and he grabbed the back of Jaskier’s neck to throw him on the ground, only starting the long string of obscenities and verbal abuse that would be echoing through the mansion once his son was on the ground. Jaskier instinctively covered his head with his arms, letting out a terrified scream. He curled up into a ball, trying to protect his stomach from the beating that was only just beginning.

By the time it was over, not a single place on Jaskier’s body wasn’t in tremendous pain or some shade of black or blue. The dress was ripped to shreds on the floor a few feet away and Jaskier was shaking in an attempt to hold back the tears that threatened to fall. He didn’t want his father to see them, but once his father left the room, door slamming shut, Jaskier couldn’t hold them back anymore and he let himself fall into sobs. If it had been almost anyone else getting beat, they would have died. And at that moment, Jaskier almost wished that was the case for him.  
He stayed on the floor there for hours. Jaskier was there until it was dark and even hours after that, but by the time the sun was up, he was gone. Jaskier left his family’s house and never looked back. At sixteen, he attended Oxenfurt. And at eighteen, he met Geralt of Rivia.

* * *

Jaskier told Geralt all of this one day… decades into their friendship. It wasn’t without struggle and an insane amount of cuddling from Geralt, but Jaskier got his story out. The situation wasn’t helped when the prompting for the revelation was when the duo encountered Jaskier’s father in the market of one of the towns they had stopped in. Jaskier’s father kept it civil while Jaskier himself was only barely holding himself together. And the rest of the day Jaskier couldn’t go back to his usual jovial self. Geralt of course noticed. He always notices when anything is off with Jaskier.

Once they were settled in their room for the night and laying in bed, Geralt had asked, “Want to talk about it?”

The question was answered with a swift, “No.”

But it only took three seconds of Geralt’s disbelieving gaze that Jaskier could feel burning into his own averted one for Jaskier to give into the story. It wasn’t forced. Jaskier knew his witcher would never force him to talk. So he told him.

**Author's Note:**

> I left a small hint for one of my next works for this series. Did anyone catch it? It probably won't be my next story, though. I want to write some much needed happier stories first.


End file.
